Daphne
by SayokoChime
Summary: There's a poison trying to weed out the undesirables from the streets of Paris. Friends must band together once more if they're going to stand against this unknown foe. Set one year after the events of the movie, partially mixed with the novel as well. Does feature an original character.


A/N: Hey there! Thanks for stopping by and I hope you enjoy the story.

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Clopin rapidly stumbled through the dank Parisian alleyway, the setting sun faintly warming his back. His balance depended entirely on his legs and sense of timing. One false step and he would lose the pouch of gold in one hand and his puppet in the other. He leapt clumsily over an inebriated rogue, apologizing without once slowing down. He was already halfway down the alley before the drunkard mustered enough indignance to splutter a few slurs after the fleeing jester. Clopin couldn't help letting out a cackle, until he picked out the sound of the guards behind him.

He stole a glance over his shoulder before turning a corner down a narrow alley. He saw the poor drunk nearly trampled under the feet of the pursuers. Beating down a spasm of guilt, he pushed on. He could hear the clanking of metal against chain-mail not far behind. Another look behind him and already he could see the sheen of their armor cutting through the dull air. The few soldiers holding swords were brandishing them already; the rest had spears. He looked ahead once more and found himself grinning with relief. He cut swiftly through an even smaller alley and allowed himself to slow down.

Not far behind, he heard the crunch, clatter, and cursing of the guards bunched together at the mouth of the path. In their haste to catch him, they failed to realize not all would manage to fit through at the same time. The dumber ones struggled in vain to push past their comrades; shouting above the rest was their captain. "You idiots! You fools! You-! After him! You, there, go back to the main street and round him off! And you, pull them apart and follow him directly! What are you all doing?! Come on!" he urged frantically.

But it was too late. Clopin had turned a corner yet again and was out of sight. He knew these backways better than anyone else in Paris. The soldiers, believing the chase to be more trouble than it was worth, dallied in obeying their captain.

Now with more gusto than he previously dared to display, Clopin burst into buoyant guffaws as he pocketed his gold and unmasked himself. The entire time he had been running in his incredibly conspicuous jester costume. He knew he would avoid the guards with no problem, with or without his jester's suit, but he did not feel like tempting fate. Looking around, he saw a line of laundry hanging directly above him. And a cloak was just dangling there, ready to be worn. 'What luck!' he thought.

Quick as a wink, he made a swipe for it and managed to get ahold of its hem. He wrapped it tightly around himself and pulled the hood low over his eyes. For an added measure he slipped his purple satin mask within the folds of the cloak. Looking up once more, to see if there were any more disguises to be had, he spied a young boy staring down from a window only a story above. "Your father's cloak, isn't it" Clopin said, without ceremony and looking the boy right in the eyes. The boy nodded, a troubled look spreading over his chubby face. "Well, what I'm doing right now is stealing. And you oughtn't do that, understand? But here," and with that he reached into his pocketed pouch, brandished a gold écu (one of the few he'd earned that day), and tossed it up to the boy. The boy scuttled after the gold; seems his parents had taught him the value of money. His face appeared once more at the window, now looking more troubled than ever.

"That," Clopin continued with a smile, "is compensation. Thank your father for me, and I hope he won't mind." He gave a quick salutation to the boy before moving on.

The end of the alleyway was blocked by a high barrier, though this posed no real problem. In a second he was propelling himself off the building parallel to the path and catching hold of the edge of the wall before him. He dropped to the other side and blent into the crowded street below. 'Well!' thought Clopin to himself, 'all in all that went without a hitch!' He patted the gold with a satisfied air as he followed the crowd.

"So," said a convivial voice from directly behind his ear, "busy day?"

Clopin turned and came face to face with Phoebus, Captain of the Guard and veteran of the Siege of Rhodes and other battlefields. Blonde, brawny, and not too shabby at banter, Phoebus was a perfect foil to Clopin. Though not necessarily enemies, they definitely were not friends. Nevertheless, they fell into step with each other and kept the mood light.

"You could say that, I suppose," Clopin answered. "I was in the middle of a show this afternoon when, for some odd reason, the guards came up and accused me of stealing the money I'd worked for. Can you believe that? I? Stealing money? The very idea!" His voice was high with mock indignance. "Had to run around all of Paris-twice! Only just lost them, you know."

"Glad to hear your day's gone well," Phoebus said flatly. "I wouldn't look down your nose at my subordinates just yet, if I were you. There are some up ahead." That being said, Phoebus raised his hand to dismiss the soldiers who had been staring from across the road. They hesitated before nodding briefly and returning to their posts. "At least the smart ones know when to quit."

"I'd hate to see at what lengths the idiotic ones would go, if that's how you measure their intelligence," Clopin remarked.  
They walked silently for a while. The crowd was as thick as before, though the people were most likely on their way home or to the hostels. Puffs of hot breath were visible through the evening air as a chill began to descend. The January weather had been fair enough, but the threat of snow seemed to loom in the days to come. Which was rather a shame, since the Feast of Fools was practically around the corner.

Clopin's shoulders gradually sagged. The Feast of Fools. It felt like an age since the last, since the the day that really did turn all of Paris upside down. He never realized how true his words were that day. He had recognized Quasimodo and crowned him the King of Fools, but he had no idea it would deteriorate into a public travesty against the timid young man. Little did Clopin know that that would instigate a change throughout the city as a whole. Esmeralda made a stand against injustice; Phoebus bridged the gap and mediated between gypsies and authorities; Quasimodo emancipated himself from the maniacal despot, Judge Claude Frollo, and even became a hero in every Parisian's eyes.

Yet the city's attitude towards outcasts and misfits was nearly back to the way it had been before. Maybe it was less prevalent; but it cannot be said there was any progress when gypsies were being pulled off the streets and suddenly carted out the city's limits for no reason other than trying to make a living. Oh, he knew; he knew there were those of his who pick-pocketed or swindled visitors of their money. He wasn't so biased towards his own people that he ignored the exceptions. Yet there ought to have been a trial, or some sort of arrest. Not an immediate exile. Something had to be going on, but...

Before he knew it, Clopin found himself and Phoebus in Notre Dame's public square. Directly opposite the cathedral itself was the puppeteer's wagon, right where he had left it. In one swift motion, he vaulted over the wooden counter and through the open shutters. "I suppose you want me to thank you for the escort?" he asked mildly after a cursory glance of the inside.

Phoebus managed to smile, but it faded quickly. "Clopin, let's not play games anymore. I know you know that something's wrong in the city. I was able to help you-"

The gypsy snorted.

"Don't give me that! I might be falling out of the loop, but if not for me the rest of the soldiers would have been after you for as long as it would've taken. And not even the new Court of Miracles would be enough to hide you." Phoebus' face took on a pleading expression. "If not for your sake, then for Esmeralda's...please, be careful," he murmured, drawing closer to the wagon after glancing in both directions. "This is serious," Clopin began, raising an eyebrow in mock incredulity.

The captain slammed his fist onto the counter, a desperate gleam in his eye. "Laugh at me all you want, I'm serious!" he hissed through his teeth. "My men have been concealing information from me, and I think they answer to someone else now. I used to have a webwork of collaborators on the streets, letting me know when the guards went out of line or when there was legitimate crime. Yet now, for some reason, my allies are either disappearing or turning up with their throats slit." Sincere frustration and guilt marred his face. "I need you to help me, Clopin. Please. I need men or women who are smart enough to pick up any talk from the street and strong enough to get away if they need to. I believe there is something happening in this city that I can't bring to justice unless we get to the root of it."

Clopin stared, wide-eyed and honestly surprised. He hadn't been expecting this kind of request. Yet wasn't this exactly his own conviction? Hadn't he just been thinking the same? Leaning casually on the counter, he took out the bag of gold. He dandled it back and forth between his palms and gave a sly smile. "I don't know, sonny boy. What's in it for my comrades? Sounds like they'll be risking a lot for just a little."

The captain of the guard hesitated. "I'll- do my best to bring back those of you who were already transported out the city walls."  
"Welllll, that's not very promising," Clopin replied dully. He shrugged after a moment. "I could ask around. Can't guarantee anything, though."

His plan was already beginning to form. Have his best and least conspicuous followers on the streets; loan a few of them to Phoebus; take his closest and most trustworthy companions on a private investigation of his own. He hoped to gather information on all sides and commit to no one save himself and his kin. It was his best, and really his only chance, to gain the upper hand and discover the cause of the unexplained exiles. It was the only option he had if he wanted to protect his people. If he couldn't do this, if he couldn't help them, then what was the use of being their king at all? "Will that be all, capitaine?"

Phoebus could not help but look doubtful. He didn't seem to trust the King of Truands. To be fair it was with good reason. But both of them knew that time could be short and they couldn't afford to squabble now. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"I was thinking of taking my business elsewhere, actually."

"Alright, well, you'll know where to look for me. If you find out anything, send a messenger or come yourself." He had already taken a few steps away from the cart before turning and opening his mouth once more. Clopin cut him off: "Yes, yes, I'll be careful! Really, my good man, I am the very soul of discretion!"

Phoebus gave him a lightly skeptical look, eyebrow raised, then walked away in the direction of Notre Dame. Probably to visit Quasimodo.  
The jester took a couple steps backward and let himself slump onto a low-legged stool. It was a long moment before he realized he was shaking. 'Must be the cold...I hope it's just the cold, at least,' he thought wearily.

But it was the rigorous escape and aching limbs that were truly the problem. Years ago he would have been just peachy after a grueling chase around the city, perhaps even ready for another. Yet now he was finding he couldn't run for very long, nor was he able to ditch his pursuers as quickly as he used to. It was mortifying to admit to himself, but...he was getting older. Humiliating and almost even horrifying to think, he could not and did not want to face the prospect.

He straightened his back and breathed in deeply, then watched the puff of air float away through the ever cooling evening. The sun had disappeared under the horizon, leaving only a thin red streak through the sky. He drew the cloak around him tightly and lowered his gaze to the wooden floor. He couldn't afford to let age or soreness to hold him back; not at this crucial time for his people. Clopin swore a silent, determined oath as he stood from his perch and raised his eyes to the towers of Notre Dame.

Whoever was pulling the strings behind the gypsies' persecution was not going to have his way. He would be caught and Clopin would deal his own brand of judgement. If by some misfortune the justice system got to the culprit first, then maybe an 'accident' could wipe the problem away before a trial came to fruition. In any case, he would not let the situation go unheeded. It was a challenge that would prove age wouldn't hold him back. Well, not that that was a priority. Just something he'd overcome privately.

He felt relief wash over him. A solid plan alone was comforting enough, but he even had the luxury of the perfect place to enact it. Throw in a week for preparations and already he had in hand the ideal components for pinning down this mysterious conspirator. Yes, a week alone would be enough, and it all would begin on the Feast of Fools.

Unfortunately, Clopin did not anticipate any of the misadventures he was about to face.

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A/N: Thank you again for stopping by and I hope you stick around. It's not a lot yet, but I really do want to continue with this piece. Please drop a review to let me know how things look so far, whether it's interesting or if there are any improvements I can make in my writing. Have a great day/evening!

-Sayoko


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